Save the Last Dance For Me
by Bright Ophelia
Summary: Five years on, you're still the first one up on Saturday mornings and most others. Between typing frustrated exclamation marks in research papers and watching him go off to work in a holdings company that isn't, there's still time for parties, unwanted reunions, lukewarm fruit punch and reluctantly done legwork. (Part Two of the 'Life Goes On' verse)
1. Prologue: Excerpt No1 (in Irony)

**Prologue - Excerpt No. 1 (in Irony)**

**a/n: **My oneshot only whim has gone on a rampage and typed another fic. Alas, alas – I started another one and this one's probably multi-chaptered. Second part of the 'life goes on' verse which is best summed by Ai goes off to live with Amuro because she's fed up with Akai and Conan and because why the hell not.

Again, I don't own a thing except for subjective characterisation and the couch Tooru has in his living room.

Warnings: Copious references to the infamous 007 - no one is safe (and I mean no one. everyone becomes Bond at one point, ha – you'll get what I mean as the chapters go on) - and Casino Royale in particular (because it suddenly hit me how some aspects of the Akemi-Shuichi relationship ring with the Vesper-Bond relationship and because I wanted a reason to re-watch Eva Green in all her glory again) Snarky Ai-chan and reckless Tooru who cannot seem to get out of trouble. Special guests that aren't particularly missed by the protagonists make an appearance though THIS WHOLE THING WAS ACTUALLY SUPPOSED TO BE SOMEWHAT INTROSPECTIVE MUSINGS.

* * *

_"James Bond?"_

"Yes, you have that kind of -" she made a gesture that was supposed to express what she wanted to say, except for the fact that it only looked like a flapping of the hands to him. "- thing," she finished, unable to find a word that could satisfy her.

"The James Bond suave, you know? And you're blonde! You have that, that devil may care, I'm fabulous -"

"What?"

"- kind of -" she proceeded to do her best James Bond impression which had him laugh, and he forgot the fact that they were talking inside a changing cubicle at a department store. The shop assistant outside would have been confused as to why the hell the man and woman who went into the same cubicle and were snorting and giggling.

"You'd make a very good James Bond." he teased, adjusting the ridiculous tie that she picked for him from a bunch.

"Shut up." She smiled, as she said that.

"They should really promote you – Agent Miyano, license to kill and all -"

"Shut UP -"

The giggles started again and he tried to keep a straight face. That was the spirit back then, quips and jokes that shouldn't be very funny considering the situation they were in.

"- you'll get to wear haute couture, drink expensive liquor, and hit on good-looking guys, no strings attached -"

"And get shot?"

"You'll survive – The hero - heroine always does."

"You watch too many movies." she berated, and added with emphasis, "Hollywood movies,"

"As opposed to your love for deep, artistic, European cinema?"

She yanked the tie from his grasp and handed him another one. The wide smile shrunk back as if she just remembered something very alarming. A melancholy one took place, or rather her eyes wore a different emotion.

"Perhaps. But I guess even the productions of Hollywood aren't without their losses."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Oh," she shrugged a little, straightening the waistline of her skirt which had gone down as she tried to hold back her laugh, "I went to see Casino Royale the other day."

(With 'Dai-kun' he added silently, but didn't acknowledge the unspoken fact. They never talked of her lover, unless it was absolutely necessary. She didn't quite get how much she hated him but accepted it with painful acknowledgement, a compromise to continue their friendship)

"Did you like it?"

He wasn't really interested in what she thought of the film, but he spoke the question out of courtesy as she seemed to have something she wanted to say.

"It wasn't what I expected."

"You haven't read the book then?"

He took off the tie he'd been wrestling with and reached for another on the rack. The last one.

"No," she shook her head and handed him the tie, "I'm not much of a reader - you know that. The Bond girl died."

"They always do. It's the rule. You die if you sleep with James Bond."

"Yes, but she was different,"

What he said wasn't the answer she wanted and he knew that. He'd seen Casino Royale, when it first came out with his 'friends' (it was such a strange word at that moment, the fact that he had that kind of thing; where were they?) and he knew where this conversation was going, the moment she mentioned the title. His suspicions were solid around the time and he could only watch, knowing as he did what happened to the lovers of the heroes in spy fiction.

"She loved him and he did too, but..."

_But._

Akemi wasn't the hero of her story. She would have lived if she had been that. No, she was the deceased lover, the Vesper Lynd to Akai's Bond, the woman that had to die to get the man going -

_(Looking back, that short afternoon they went shopping together —ridiculous as it sounds and even now feels miraculous as to how they managed to keep under the radar – is a very funny moment for him. The day is imprinted on his mind like a very memorable film, every detail from the cheap curtains of the cubicle, the newly wiped mirror and the garish lights are brought to life when he thinks of that day. That conversation, her expressions and his one-liners all come back. The conversation itself is like the perfect sample for a lesson in irony (very, very dramatic irony – so dramatic it's almost tragic) in a literature class and isn't it funny? How she knew. She knew (so maybe it isn't irony after all) around then, or at least had her suspicions (she was far smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for, few people knew just how astute she was) and like a self-fulfilling prophecy, she came to determine her own fate.)_

So when her sister alluded to the fictional spy on coming back from one of their outings (that ended with a dislocated arm, three battered criminals escorted away, another shirt in tatters and her, standing next to the ambulance and saying "You _don't _want to keep yourself out of trouble, do you Amuro-san?") it's only natural that he watches Casino Royale after flicking through the few dvds he owns. He's never watched the film after the day he first saw it and he wonders, as he goes through familiar scenes and ones he forgot, what she saw when she watched it for the first time.

Did she identify herself? Or was it what went on in her (not)-lover's mind that had her occupied?

_"James did you ever ask yourself why you weren't killed that night? Isn't it obvious?….I'm sure she hoped they'd let her live. But she must have known she was going to her death…" _


	2. Chapter 1: Five Years

**Chapter 1 - Five Years**

**a/n: **We move on and somehow I've managed to make up what looks like a plot? Thank you for reviews, follows and favourites. I'm actually shocked -I didn't know anyone would read these ramblings of mine.

Again I don't own a thing, (save for SOP!) sadly because if I did, Shiho and Amuro would be in something like The Big Sleep or Vertigo (I'm evil)

* * *

"You watch too many movies."

You draw the curtains with a little more force than needed and daylight spills into the small living room, as if it'd been waiting to.

Amuro-san, is tangled on the couch and squirming to cover his face like a worm caught under the grubby fingers of a innocent, but cruel toddler. The remnants of last night's refreshments are on the table, a few snacks (their wrappers neatly folded and pushed to the side, Amuro Tooru and his obsessive compulsion for tidying you think and file it away somewhere) and the empty cup. His laptop is on the table, still on and quite hot. You move the mouse pad and see that the film he'd been watching has finished. You press the dvd button on the side and the disc comes out. Amuro-san mumbles something inaudible and you pick the disc from its slot and peer at the title.

"I thought more than half a decade of actual spying was enough, but apparently PSIA agents watch escapist spy movies?"

"_Former_, PSIA agent, Shiho-san"

Though drunk on (bad, deprived) sleep and eyes unopen, the manners are perfect if the voice is a bit cracked.

"Casino Royale?"

You fish around for the case and find it discarded and wedged between two of your textbooks.

"Have you seen it?"

You snort a little, but it comes out like an exaggerated humph (a little more restraint would've been nice) and you place the disc into the case, shutting it firmly.

"Spy films aren't my forte."

"Why? Everyone likes a good spy flick now and then -"

"They take themselves too seriously – about having a message - and are too often stuck in sentimental conflicts that don't go anywhere. Big explosions, pointless shooting and cheap emotion – it's a pantomime compared to the scope of reality -"

You ramble on, talking of reasons that you think up on the spot and seal it with a comment that sounds a touch too cynical, even for you and probably for the man who's just woken from a night of escapist fantasies. You place the dvd in a small space on the bookshelf and turn back towards him, picking up the coffee you brought with you from the kitchen. He's up, with a strange smile on his face.

"If you don't want it…."

"No, thank you – I'll take it. You rarely bring me coffee Shiho-san, and I'll not be deprived of the novelty."

You hand him the cup halfheartedly and he takes it with a small nod of thanks.

"Then what's with the smile?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

He looks away very slightly, and you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking at him closely enough.

"I was just remembering something."

"Another critic of the spy genre?"

There's another smile, but it's lost in some other thought. A memory perhaps.

"Something like that. This is good. You have a talent for getting the right amount of sugar -"

The last comment is added hastily but you let him off, pretending that you haven't noticed.

"I stay up late practicing the art of measuring. Sugar."

You straighten up and head out, your mission complete.

"Plans today, Shiho-san?"

"Shopping, and miscellaneous activities."

"Miscellaneous?"

"I'm going for a dental checkup. Ominous and miscellaneous enough for you?"

* * *

With a firm press, you staple the last stack of papers and gather the final copies of your research paper, placing it carefully inside the file. You put the file inside your bag and swing it over your shoulder.

"Now, can we go? Soppy?"

Elisa huffs, managing to turn it into a whine. She would, with all the books she has in her bag and in her arms ('a walking library, a catalog for famous and obscure literature' was the offhand and surprisingly accurate comment by Amuro-san last year).

"Yes -"

"Hurrah! C'mon I need to go shopping for shorts – you know I live on a single pair every season and I'm in need of a new pair for the summer."

"Are you sure you don't want me to help you with those?" You point to the several hardback copies she's carrying; two books on political history and a biography of Marie Curie. And that's not to mention the mustard yellow notebook she always carries, wedged under her arm as well as the books in her bag.

"Nope, I'm fine. This is like the average number I carry around the campus everyday. I don't even let my boyfriend carry it for me and I'm certainly not going to break habit by letting you, Sop - "

She then proceeds to link her arm with yours and drags you into the bright sunny outdoors.

Kondo Elisa, student of Political science and English Literature is a strange mix of Kudo-kun, Ayumi and for some reason, Suzuki Sonoko, the best friend of Mouri Ran.

She has the confidence of Kudo-kun, or rather lack of self-doubt and is vocal in her ideas. The sometimes brash personality is sewn together by an acute perceiving of emotions that catches you off guard in it's precise analysis (something Kudo-kun lacked, as you recall bitterly) and you guess that sometime in her life, Elisa spent her time being overly aware of other peoples' feelings. The slightly neutral expression with a hint of gloom she sometimes sports when she thinks no one is looking is such a sharp contrast to her always smiling countenance (a feature of Ayumi's) that the first time you saw it, you realised how much you'd misjudged her character (boisterous, shallow and proud of herself).

Her utter devotion to her boyfriend and almost shameless or honest, (depending how you looked at it) fawning for celebrities (in the entertainment, sports and shogi) - akin to Suzuki Sonoko's reaction to every good-looking man she came across - was perhaps, one of the reasons for your doing so. She talks a lot and little loudly (but trips over her own words) and laughs shamelessly, not minding who's looking. It's a big, merry laugh and it has a strange ability to prompt other people into the same act. You envy her confidence she possesses and injects into every aspect of her life, not shrinking under the gaze of non-existent, anonymous eyes as you do. Whatever it was that pulled the depressed look in her eyes at times seems trivial as you feel that she must have been and still is, loved very much.

"So, Sop, how's Friday?"

She's also needlessly persistent, as she is now, continuing her past efforts in lobbying you to come to the end of term party on Friday.

"No, and you better give up, we've had this conversation, as I recall -"

"But you know I never take no for an answer, Sop. So please, please, please, please come? You're my favourite person on campus -"

"I thought that honour belonged to Yamano-san?" you ask casually, dodging the bump in the road.

"Don't mind him," Elisa says dismissively, waving a hand, "He's my boyfriend and belongs to a different plane of categorisation. You're my fav on campus, full stop. Therefore you must come, Sop -"

Sop, or '_Super Organic Chemistry Punk'_ is the nickname conceived for you by Elisa, sprouted from an impressed remark she made on the second term of your first year. She'd come over to pick up her boyfriend's books when she sawyour test results. She'd then proceeded to shake her head, already aware of your infamy in the department and commented that "Ai-san's a complete punk. Look at the grades seriously – I barely scraped a C- for the Intro. to Physics thing that I did last term and she's just – Super Punk - "

The rest of the next term surmounted to the evolution of that comment, and being called various variations of the word 'punk' (sup, chem. punk, suppy, suppunk -) until she'd found a variation she liked. Your subtle death glares did not work and eventually the hard-worked nickname spread across the whole department and ended with your resignation and acceptance.

A feat, achieved by extraordinary tenacity. Amuro-san, as soon as he heard it burst into a rare laugh, though managed to suppress it under your quick and sharp threat to cancel the ordered groceries for the week.

"Please? Come, come, come -"

"We've arrived – this is where you normally shop don't you?"

"Come on Ai, please? I know you hate big parties but it's just a small crowd, less than thirty and a third will be gone by the first hour. It's the old gang and you've hardly hung out with us since the year started. Are you gonna conquer the world with your genius before 25? If not, I'm sure you can spare us six hours – Please, Ai-chan?"

Perhaps it's the way she says it, the open, earnest tone. Or maybe it's the Ai-chan, that reminds you of someone else, a little girl who clung to you as she asked a question of similar intent.

Whatever it was, it doesn't take long for you to change your mind.

"Fine. But only a few hours. And no unwillingly served drinks masked as fruit juice -"

The ecstasy on Elisa's face is almost worth the short, snappish answer you give her as she does a small victory jump in front of the clothes store.

"I love you -" she says, bursting with pure joy that's comical in its unabashed expression.

"You love everything -"

"But I love you most, you know that?"

"I... might have heard something about it -" You reply as you open the doors to the store.

* * *

You do think about them, more often than you let on.

The tiniest, most unimportant details that you thought discarded are recalled by the smallest triggers and you do think of the few months in your life when you felt happiest. Young again, with friends and relatively safe. You made new friends and you don't regret the choice you made (never, never regret choice) but being the first (it's how you rationalise the almost poignant longing that you have for the Detective Boys compared to others you've walked away from) for you, it's difficult to deny the place they hold in memories. They're safer than they would have been had you stayed (and somehow managed to forgive two individuals) and you reassure yourself with this fact on nights you awake from nightmares that won't quite fade away and see uncanny shadows in the crowds you pass. But sometimes, even on nights like tonight when you've had a great and almost (dare you say), enjoyable time (too much drinking was involved and the music was too loud but you still had fun as Elisa swore you would on multiple occasions) your mind unconsciously wonders to the camping trips and computer games, good curry and small mishaps.

Five years on, you wonder what they look like (you've seen them on the photos that hakase showed you on the meetings you have) but you want to know how they are, in the flesh. Moving and talking -

_"Do they miss me?"_

_Was the careful question you put together after months of struggling; you wanted them to forget, but no, you didn't want to be forgotten, not by them -_

_"Very much."_

_Hakase's short answer, and the small pause before it told you what you needed and wanted to know. You missed them, too, with the same sincerity he put into those two syllables._

The song on the radio ends and the ads roll in announcing the break. You stand up from the chair, place you cup in the sink and begin to wash it slowly. You take your time, scrubbxing every nook of the cup and clean the fork and small saucer as well. By the time you've finished and have laid the things on the drying rack, the ads are over and another song is introduced. It's one of the last batch of songs before this radio program is over (one that's grown in you, even the whimsical nostalgia it embodies in sending out old pop songs and some you do not know, songs of yesteryear that were a hit in Japan). The clock on the wall is slowly making it's way up the six steps to twelve, and your heart thuds slightly.

Amuro-san isn't in yet.

It should be nothing, really but it's a physical, not conscious reaction. He's more than capable of looking after himself (as you've seen multiple times) and is usually late home, in the past year. But the nagging feeling and hyper sensitivity you experience around 11:35 pm (there is nothing more accurate in this world than the body clock, a once filed piece of information chimes) if he's not in by then is unstoppable and you've given up on quelling it. Turning the radio on quite loud was one of your new-found remedies for the inner tremors (tiny, but vibrating between your rib cage) and housework was another. He's not Cinderella and it's not out of some desperate clingy love for him (of course not).

Peace, in any form whether forced or genuine has always been a source of unrest and disconcert for you as it always felt like the calm before the storm. You could never let your guard down completely; you always expected the worse because after some time in your younger years, you discovered it was a, the most effective mechanism to cope, to get over and forget what you saw, to ease the shock and suffering, the horrors -

The last five years have been nothing but peaceful, too peaceful. Brunches with Amuro-san every weekend and window shopping, lessons at school and tests, homework and late-night studying -

And that's made you uneasy for that reason. To accept those events at face value would be to go against your instincts and your form of coping.

You haven't seen a single shadow of the organisation except for the hallucinations charged by your own hyper-vigilance and you should stop all the looking back, as it could drive you insane. Even the casual murder down the road or a burglary is welcoming, the very real evidence of danger, of the shadow behind you. You wanted peace, but you suffer from inner conflicts as soon as you got it.

A former spy of a criminal organisation and a traitor of the same organisation living together under one roof is a recipe for trouble, even with changed names and identities, different living conditions -

Some days, in the early years of living with Amuro, you half-expected to get a call from the police, asking would you please kindly come to the morgue and identify this body, or worse, come home from school and find him, dead on the kitchen floor, blood and brain matter, still fresh. Gin (no Gin's dead, you saw him die, you touched the body and saw it being shipped of to be incinerated, -) or Vermouth or someone else would be standing in your kitchen, with a casual greeting and announcing your execution. Cold revenge, no feelings litter this crime scene and it would be seen as a botched robbery. The end.

Yes, you could smell the distinct scent of the organisation in those fantasies -

His job and your status (as yourself, as your parents daughter) exposed you to threats every moment and the hyper vigilance (the tap dripping, the cars outside, someone flushing the toilet -) of the eleventh hour only affirmed what you'd known, what you couldn't shake off.

So you stay. Awake, the lights and sounds of the kitchen on and all traces of tonight's alcoholic beverages gone from your mind and system, waiting for him to come home, to prove to you that everything, is all right, that this peace can -

The scraping of the keys is heard and the door is pushed.

You step outside the kitchen quietly, but with a little stumble and stand at the doorway. The only light source of this whole house (apart from the single yellow lamp in the living room) shines behind you, throwing your shadow onto the floor. A moment later, he appears and does a small double take at the sight of you guarding the kitchen. He's the same as you left him this morning, except for a change of clothes and windswept hair. The tension in your heart drops and the house doesn't seem as large or as ominous as it had been less than ten seconds ago.

"Shiho-san?" he says in surprise, "I thought you would be in bed by now? Or at the party. Is something -"

"No. I lived farthest away so I came before the last bus."

"Did you have -"

"You're late," you say accusingly with a little more reproach than intended.

"I'm sorry. We had an... incident. A near-crisis -"

"Why, did the stock exchange crash?"

"Close, but, we managed to... evade the crisis. What time did you come home, Shiho-san?"

"Just before eleven."

"Ah. Well you didn't have to wait for me. I was stuck, in a pile of paperwork and would've come much later if the – my boss hadn't decided to call it a night."

He peers at the clock that is heading towards twenty minutes past midnight, choosing his words carefully. He sets down his bag and turns the lights of the living room on. It's quite pointless as you both know perfectly well that he doesn't work at a holdings company (his company that is printed on his business card doesn't exist and no sane holdings firm would let their workers out long enough for them to acquire a bad cut and ripped jeans)

"You're bleeding,"

You point to the blood stain on the hem of his trousers and he blinks, noticing it for the first time. He shrugs it off as a minor damage and goes to look for the fist aid kit.

"You should wash first, Amuro-san."

You point to the towel you've already placed on the sofa and he retraces his steps and takes it.

"Thoughtful as always, Shiho-san, thank you - "

He heads towards the bathroom in a much better humour than you could expect from someone who's been at work for almost 16 hours.

"Hurry up. While the water's still hot -"

"You know, Shiho-san," he adds casually before entering the bathroom, "the things you say are very nice. Thought I'm told that I'm lucky that it's you saying it -"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"My.. well one of my many bosses asked a few days ago why I was in such a hurry to go back as he knows I'm single and I mentioned you. He said that the same comments sound very different – if they come from a spouse that is - "

He smiles at his own words, and dives behind the door. You're left to wonder in mild exasperation and relief (as you hear the sounds of the tap being turned on) if such a boss actually exists and has been quoted from.

* * *

"Shiho-san,"

You look up from the book you've been flicking through and see Amuro back from the stores with milk. He sets the carton down and opens it, pouring a little of it into his still hot coffee. He makes a motion towards your sipped cup and you shake your head in refusal.

"I want black, today."

"Expecting a long day?'

"Not particularly -"

It's Saturday; a few days into the holidays and you enjoy the short break after such a busy term. Amuro-san looks for the sugar and you push the bowl (in a shape of a boat with bright red and white stripes, a present from his sister) towards him.

"What book are you reading, Shiho-san?"

He puts two spoons into the cup and stirs it with on hand and reaching for a slice of toast with the other.

"Oh. A novel."

"What's it about?'

"A mediocre art critic who aspires to make his own films falls head over heels for a girl a third his age, and after his money," you recite the little (and probably all the) plot you've read an stick two slices of bread into the toaster. You also bring out more vegetables and mozzarella cheese you sliced the other night, "He proceeds to leave his wife and daughter. Reportedly this won't end well. And don't worry. It's spelled out in the first few sentences."

"It doesn't sound like what you'd normally read -"

You smile, pushing the plate towards him. Saturday brunches are your speciality, a tradition of five years and he knows you too well, down to your reading tastes, "Yes. It's not mine.'

"Kondo-san's?"

He also knows Elisa's as well. The training doesn't go anywhere it seems.

"She left it when she came over on Wednesday. She said she'll pick it up after she comes back from Okinawa -"

A bubbling sound distracts you and you go to the stove to lower the heat.

"Curry?" Amuro asks, through a bite of his sandwich.

"A whim."

And memories of camping trips.

"Not something I'd normally read," you search for a bookmark, place it on the last page you were on and set the book down on the table, "But I quite like it. The humour. It's vicious, sharp - and cruel."

The toaster announces it's latest offerings and you reach for one slice, Amuro-san the other and leave it on the rack too cool. Somewhere, there's a shrill screech outside, probably Akihito and his little sister that live across the street, fighting over whose turn it is to ride the bike.

"Enough of my literary tastes. Isn't there something you've been trying to tell me, Amuro-san?"

It's a pleasantly delivered question of 'spit it out', but Amuro chokes a little and you give his cup of coffee a little push like a piece on the chessboard.

"How did you know?"

"Other than the fact that you changed colour when you went though the post three days back? Or that you've been taking phone calls outside after a short, but definite glance in my direction?"

You casually list off the few happenings over the last few days and Amuro-san gives a sigh of resignation. You're curious to know what exactly has had him wary of you during the past few days, and silence has lead you to the realm of your old habits – was it his old bosses, telling him that they needed him back, that he had to leave and you had to find a new place, a new -

"Do you remember what I said about going to some party or having a break, Shiho-san?"

"Vaguely," You answer and recall the conversation you had a week before, from a postcard of Malta you found in one of his books.

"Well..." he sighs and stands up, heading for the fridge where in the space between it and the sink he stuffs all the ads, poster cards for pizza delivery and bills. He takes the thick wad of paper out, goes through it and pulls a stiff white envelope out, a clean, blank sheet of expensive quality, compared to the cheap flimsy colours of the ad papers.

He hands you the envelope, addressed to himself. In there are three sheets of paper. You take the biggest one out and scan it.

"How?"

"To cut a complicated story that isn't an appropriate subject matter for Saturday morning short, I did a favour a few years back for a friend. Of a friend. He's now secretary to Suzuki Tomoko. Hence, the invitation, Shiho-san."

"There's two."

"I mentioned that I was living with someone and I think, with the great consideration he has, he's sent me, a plus one invitation."

You sit there, staring up at Amuro and the fancy invitation in your hands, for the 20th anniversary of one of Suzuki corporation's many hotels. Once you get past the immediate shock (this isn't what you expected when you blundered into the realm of suspicions) you instinctively feel some other force at work, another -

"Why would you consider going?"

"Why not, Shiho-san? Summer holidays, free time and all paid for -"

"You've never cared for this kind of thing. Why so eager now?"

The sharpness in your tone demands the truth because at this point, after all that, you hate being lied to; you'd rather face the painful/uncomfortable/unwanted truth than to swallow another lie. Amuro immediately senses it as the lighter mood he'd been affecting grows slightly more serious.

"Three reasons, Shiho-san, though the percentage they hold differs – One, which takes up about 11% is that I did want to get away and this does seem like a nice opportunity, whether you believe me or not is a different matter. Two, the biggest reason and a shareholder of 85% is... a... person of interest is attending the same event and it's a very good place to observe them. As you can guess, my team jumped to it."

Of course, work.

"And going with me is going to make you look less look less conspicuous?" You suddenly realise where this is going.

"Less, noticeable," he corrects.

"Really, let's hope that there are foreigners a plenty."

"You haven't heard the final reason -"

"What is it? A threat of some sort?" You say jokingly, with a hint of sarcasm not hidden.

"Bingo -"

"What?"

"The final four percent is a letter delivered to Suzuki corporation eleven days ago, forewarning bloodshed -"

"And for some reason this takes up a smaller percentage than you and I being on holiday?"

"It's a Suzuki event, Shiho-san, what does that automatically equate to?'"

The penny drops, and it's all too late – the time and effort spent in trying to not think about him actually paid off – how could you have -

_Suzuki, Sonoko, Mouri Ran_ -

"Kudo-kun."

"Yes."

"No. I'm not -" You cut in, a little more quickly than you'd have expected to.

And as if to make your point you stand up from the chair. Now of a similar height to Amuro you spell it out again -

"I'm not going."

"Because of Kudo-kun?"

"Do you honestly think that watching a POI and enjoying a holiday - two forces that already defeat each others' purposes – and stopping the murderous intent of some unknown suspect is actually possible?"

"If you put it that way -"

"Choose one and stick to it Amuro-san -" You say viciously and head towards the living room

"You don't have to go if you don't want to Shiho-san." He says behind you, gently

"What?"

The calm remark catches you off and you temporarily forget what you were about to say.

"It's your choice, Shiho-san. It's always been. I'm not forcing choices on you - they were just suggestions,"

"What about your job?"

"The POI? You would certainly help, but it can be done without you. Former PSIA, remember? I apologise if my remark about Kudo-kun offended you. I see that you're still upset at him -"

"I'm not upset -"

"But you're not too eager to meet him, no? I understand it's hard to forgive and you've stayed well away for personal reasons. I know that."

You listen in silence, as Amuro voices what you only thought of, in the months.

"I wasn't meaning it as a provocation. But you know that you can't evade him forever – paths once crossed are quite hard to stray from. You'll meet him again sooner or later. I was just suggesting, if you wanted to, this might be a good chance for you to meet him again. You won't actively seek for him and he can't find you - or rather, he's consciously not finding you since whether he likes it or not, he's respecting your decision to leave. You know that with his knowledge and resources he could find you within, say -"

"12 hours -"

"Yes. But you haven't seen him for the past five years which is obviously telling, don't you think?"

The silence holds between the two of you; you want to say something, but as you've been ignoring Kudo-kun for the last five years, there's nothing to say on the matter against Amuro-san's logical arguments, as much as you don't want to admit it, except for emotional outbursts dating five years back.

"Even if I go, what would I do?"

The question sounds childish, and you regret voicing your direct thoughts, without careful wording.

"What you like. Reconciliation or continued ignorance – your choice."

Sometimes, the options of choice seems more hopeless than preconceived conclusions.

"I -"

"If you don't know, you won't unless you meet him face to face, will you Shiho-san? Think it over."

And he leaves the kitchen, cup in hand. You're left with the invitations and the washing machine chiming Schubert's _Die Forelle _at completing its cycle.

* * *

**e/n:** Elisa is mine mine and hahahha. Word of God: There will be a couple of ocs sprinkled here and there but you know, it's five years on, a different neighbourhood and lives move on - it's the title of the whole series! Though I have a fondness for the few ocs that crop up, they won't become major characters, probably because I'm not the biggest fan of ocs myself. They'll crop up as names or plot moving devices but that'll be it unless reviews start raving about a particular one. For anyone who is interested, my old washing machine sang Die Forelle after completing its mission.

Next installment: new faces, old faces, parties, dancing, Mr and Mrs Bond. And a one-year-old scandal.

Though I ship Amuro/Shiho to a point where it's not very funny for me, the mood of this series lacks anything overtly shippy (though it maybe subjected to change?). This is because I don't really see these two as jumping onto each other or anywhere else anytime soon. I like the familiar companionship that I hope I have and tried to create, a slow burning, long lasting friendship thing with subtle attraction that doesn't go beyond flitters and throbs not 'oh my god get a room you two!' kind of UST thing (which is nice in its own way). Maybe I'll do something more shippy after this series (though I have no idea where this is going, my notes swing from Hollywood happy to let's take this slowly) but I really like it as it is now, having breakfast together. (I should compose a fic with nothing but talking whilst having breakfast)

Comments:

-Shiho's continuous swinging between Amuro, Amuro-san is intentional as she can't make up her mind. There's a small conflict between habit and familiarity.

-Though summed in one sentence, I wanted to kind of point out that people are prone to stereotypes and prejudices, even Shiho (with Elisa for instance) and that they are open to change. I also wanted to do a nice girl friendship, as I wanted to see it (friendship between someone with Sonoko's personality traits and Ai would have been interesting) within the series, but alas, Gosho and his boys.

-Shiho has issues with agency. Her experiences with the org, the blatantly manipulative behaviour of Conan and sometimes even Shuichi. Amuro kind of gets that here and is consciously making an effort to tell her that it's hers.

-Reviews and comments make me happy and more productive! Feedback is the best food for writing better stories, better characters!

(Kudos to anyone who can guess the book that Shiho is reading; yes it's an actual book)


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